


Persephone's Revenge: A Halloween One-shot

by ficme



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: F/F, Mythology - Freeform, Persephone goes feral, Pre-Canon, and hades isn't here, slight mentions of violence against women, the violence is graphic but the depiction is not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 11:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficme/pseuds/ficme
Summary: The name Persephone is said to have come from the ancient greek words for "bringer of destruction" and "death". Here we see why.(This fic takes place in the early 1900s, and was initially written as part of a backstory for a dark/angsty Hades/Persephone RP I am currently participating in. It was just meant to be a one-off to give me a grasp on what Persephone would be doing alone on earth during this time period, and quickly evolved into something more. I am publishing this story here, because it is spooky season, so happy halloween y'all!)





	Persephone's Revenge: A Halloween One-shot

**Author's Note:**

> Persephone is bisexual, you cannot change my mind. While she loves her husband dearly (even though they are fighting at the moment since Orpheus has not come 'round yet) she would not be one to deny herself the pleasures of another's company if the right opportunity presented itself. She has needs, okay? Let's just say that she and Hades have an understanding between them.
> 
> Also, apologies for any awkward tense shifting, I'll continue to edit this tomorrow when I'm more awake.

**Background/Extended Summary:**

It is the beginning of a new century, the 1900s to be exact, and Persephone has been left to her own devices during the warmer months once more. In recent years, she has taken to running a home for unwed women, teaching the residents skills that can be applied for self-improvement; such as feminist unity, gardening, and the arts. Persephone specifically aims to empower women who would otherwise be destined to an unfulfilling life of domestic servitude. She and some of the more nature-savvy women keep a rose garden in the courtyard, which is known for housing award-winning blooms. Her apparent status as a “single” yet capable woman confuses and outrages the wealthier men of the area, who complain among themselves that once a woman is taken in by her, they are a lot less likely to make a “good” bride/mother. The animosity the male (and occasionally female) aristocracy harbors for her amuses Persephone to no ends, and only serves to make her home more progressive and daunting. Multiple times, she has been brought before a judge with the charges of indecency or accusations of running whorehouse, but the charges are always immediately dismissed for some unknown reason.

Her biggest disappointments are always women who have such potential, who end up giving into marriage and becoming the property of wealthy men (though she remains in contact with them, never giving up hope that they may one day return to her). One season, she took in a very talented women (Annabel, with whom she shared a deeply emotional and rumored to be passionate friendship) who had sought her aide in escaping her cruel and abusive husband. Persephone spent the summer by her side, basking in a comfortable companionship she hadn't experienced for quite some time. This relationship ended suddenly and tragically, when the husband found out through one of her home's newer girls that Annabel was in her care, and he and a group of male friends ambushed Annabel in an alleyway one evening after following her from a local store, assaulting her before beating her to death in an act of cowardly and possessive violence. By the time Persephone learned of Annabel’s fate, it was too late to save her mortal life, so she paid for a lavish funeral and grave site that now rests on a serene hill overlooking some trees and a lake, in the land beyond her private estate. The alleyway where Annabel died is unusual in that it will always be reclaimed by nature within days of being cleared, beautiful flowering vines growing through the concrete year-round. Coincidentally, the night after Annabel was murdered, the girl who betrayed her whereabouts, Annabel’s husband, and his friends were all killed in a terrible house fire. A thorough investigation by the local justice department ruled the fire an accident, but an elderly domestic servant insisted that a mysterious witch appeared and warned her to take her fellow housekeepers outside mere moments before the disaster struck. This account was written off as hysteria caused by one’s witnessing a traumatic event, and in the coming days, the housekeepers were all able to move on from that night, finding easy employment with a newlywed couple, the wife being surprisingly kind for a social elite.

**So, what actually happened on the night of the fire?**

We see Persephone in her private chambers, staring into the vanity mirror she is seated before. She pulls a sheer black robe tightly around her chest, partially obscuring her simple black satin nightgown. Her heavily made up face has been scrubbed bare, and her eyes are red, raw, and puffy, dark bags settling below them. Her breath comes in short, uneven hitches, but she has no tears left to cry. Her usually pristine hair has been taken out of its signature updo, her long curls falling feral and free across her back and shoulders. Bottles of empty wine lay scattered and broken across the floor. Her bed is still unmade, the tangle of sheets left ignored from being woken in the middle of the night before. She sighs, runs a hand through a lock of her chestnut brown waves, nods to her reflection, and stands, both hands bracing the edge of the table to stabilize the drunken nerves that leave her balance unsteady. She walks towards her bedroom window and draws open the thick velvet curtains, bare feet ignoring the shards of glass that would certainly injure her soles had she been a mortal woman. But she was not a mortal woman, and she had work to do. A chilling breeze drifts through the open window, lifting the curtains and her hair in its wake, and the incandescent lighting illuminating the room flickers out for a brief instant, before returning in the blink of an eye. We see the open window looking out on the quiet darkened streets below, but we no longer see Persephone.

~~~

Blocks a way, an elderly woman bends over a wash bucket in a modest servants quarter, calloused hands working furiously on a linen stain that clings stubbornly to her master’s shirt. This will be her third time attempting to clean this blasted garment today, and she mutters a curse under her breath, damning which ever activity it was that had her master returning to her last evening in such a state of dishevelment and disrepair. The other girls had long since gone to bed, their nightly chores having been finished without any unusual affair, yet here she sits late into the night, only candlelight to assist her in this tedious task. Her master was a wealthy gentleman, and he could have easily replaced the ruined finery instead of demanding it be restored to its previous condition, but he was also a cruel man, and she was certain he tasked her with this impossible ask so that when she inevitably failed him, he could delight in her punishment. Her hands paused briefly as a cool gust of air rushed in through her open window, and she shivered lightly as she turned her face up to meet it. As she looked up, wrinkled face weary in exhaustion, she was left in darkness as the flame of her only source of light extinguished. “Just what my perfect night needed,” she bemoaned aloud, releasing her master’s shirt into the wash as she stood, wiping her damp hands on her dress before she began her search for a match. After a session of tired hands fumbling around in the dark, she finally found her prize, a box of matches that rested neatly beside her candle-holder. She isolated a single matchstick from the group, and struck it once, twice, until it caught. She relit the candle with a shaking hand, blew the match out, and set the burnt out stick beside the box to be dealt with later. “I guess I need to close that window then,” she spoke aloud to herself once more, a bitter undercurrent to her words. The only small relief from this sorry task was that she could at least work with fresh air, the washroom smelling unbearably of mildew otherwise, but now she couldn’t have that either. She let out an annoyed huff, and turned back towards the open room, when a sight befell her that had her stop dead in her tracks, and throw a hand over her mouth to muffle her scream.

An unkempt woman who had certainly not been there before now stood in her path. She wore all black, long hair awreck with tangles, and had a wild look about her eyes. Before the servant woman could speak, the figure approached her and issued a hushed yet stern command, “Get yourself and the other domestic servants out of the house immediately, or certain doom will be upon you. Do not attempt to wake your master, lest you wish to tempt fate.” There was grave look upon this new woman’s face that told the elderly housekeeper that there was no room for questions or clarification, and with a slight and terrified nod, she turned on her heels and sped through the door that led out into the servant quarter’s main hallway.

There were four girls, besides her, that took up employment in this home, as well as two men; a chef and the master’s personal valet. She pounded loudly on each of their doors until they stumbled out into the hall, the confusion of sleep still dominating their features. “There’s been an emergency, we have to leave this house immediately, there’s no time to explain.” Raised eyebrows appeared all around her, but being the senior most employee of this home meant that she had garnered enough trust and respect from the others that her order was taken seriously and met without hesitation.

The seven of them stood shivering upon the lawn, huddled together for warmth and safety. “What about the master and his visitors?” the youngest of the girls finally piped up, breaking the shocked silence, “shouldn’t we have gone to collect them as well?” This young girl was a mere slip of a thing, barely able to be considered an adult when her parents sold her off to this home to satisfy a debt, and the scars that marred her otherwise plain face told stories of abuse she had been receiving by the man of the house, undoubtedly finding herself a new target after the fateful day his wife disappeared. It was not out of loyalty that she voiced concern for their master, but of a deep fear of becoming the target of his wrath once more. The elder woman shook her head, she had been unable to help this girl before, but she could at least try to make up for it now.

“Who do you think gave me the orders to gather you in the first place?” she lied, “I was tending to his drawing room when he came out and started yelling at me and his guests, shouting something about how everyone needed to leave right away. I of course urged him to let me escort the group to safety, but he refused, saying he needed to gather important documents and heirlooms before he would dare exit the house.” These secretly false statements stunned everyone in the group, but mostly the old woman herself. Lying to others had never been one of her sharper skills, but she found this fib spilling out of her with an almost supernatural ease, her words spoken with unshakable confidence that began to set the others at ease. She looked up at the house that had been her home for many years a final time before turning back to the others, and spoke with finality, “I’m sure they will be out any moment now.” Part of her wanted to believe that this was all just some elaborate prank being played on her and that she had not yet been let in on, but she thought of the mysterious woman once more and the evil look in her eyes, and knew that everything turning out to be a meanspirited joke was unlikely. ‘It was funny,’ she thought after picturing the woman’s face once more, ‘she almost seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her…’ This line of thought immediately died when the quiet night was interrupted by the loud shattering of glass, as the house was engulfed by flames.

~~~

Persephone was glad it had been an older woman that she confronted. Younger girls were more likely to ask for reasoning behind an unexpected order, and even a working class man was likely to ignore her. She supposed she could have convinced any of them to do her bidding if given enough time, but the longer she stayed here, the less of a chance she had for everything to come together just so. No, the older lady (though only older in looks alone) was perfect, she must’ve had a good head on her shoulders because she didn’t even speak before rushing to give her the room. Persephone cracked her knuckles and began to survey her surroundings, a wicked grin spread across her face when her eyes locked onto something promising: an ordinary box of matches. “That’ll do very nicely,” she purred in her unplaceable yet distinctly southern drawl, and she moved towards the object with determination.

Persephone waited until the din of voices died out in the hallway before she made her own way out into the hall. The corridor was barren, and only the sight of doors left ajar could indicate that something was amiss. She padded silently towards the stairs, her footsteps carefully controlled by her powers to emit no sound. She didn’t know the exact layout of the house, but she had a good guess as to where her soon-to-be captive audience would be: A room on the outer edge of the second floor, where they would be far away from their pitiful servants, and where they could look down at the world they thought beneath them. Persephone’s hunch proved correct, and she found the door to what was most likely a drawing room along the side of the house that would overlook the main road below, loud masculine voices pouring out from the space beneath the door. She didn’t enter the room immediately, however, electing instead to make a silent sweep of the other rooms on this floor, just to assure that no one would walk in on or away from her unscathed when she finally enacted her plan of justice. She was able to catch most of the conversations happening inside the room of interest during her prowl, as the men were shouting in a jovial nature about booze, business, and busty women. As she internally checked off the last room on this floor as being free from occupants, she heard a single man’s shout rise above the others, asking for everyone to please quiet down so he could make a toast. “Thank you gentlemen, for being men of honor, and assisting me in ridding myself of a particularly nasty disease: my traitorous bitch of a wife!” Sound of laughter echoed throughout the house, and Persephone fists balled at her side and she became immobile, a flash flood of ice cold rage washing through her that was so powerful, so intense, she almost ended their lives right then and there, without ever even looking upon their smug faces. “And here’s my new dame,” the sound of shuffling and a feminine squeal of delight accompanied his words as he finished his toast, “who warms my heart, and my bed!” More laughter. More celebration. 

‘No,’ Persephone decided as she reigned in her emotions, ‘they need to suffer for what they have done. Suffer just like they made poor Annabel suffer before they took away her precious life and made the stars in the night sky just a little bit dimmer.’ The presence of a woman amongst the group was unexpected, but if she found herself amused by the antics of these festering vermin who called themselves men, Persephone deemed bitterly that is was probably too late for her to be saved anyhow.

She chose the exact moment that the wave of laughter died down to make her entrance, drawing herself up to her full height as her hand closed around the doorknob and began to twist. The group was gathered around a card table, and didn’t seem to realize someone new had walked in, likely blinded to her entry by the assumption she was a servant and could therefore be ignored. She let the door slam behind her in a thundering bang, and the spell of ignorance was shattered as all heads turned to meet her. There were eight people in total, Annabel’s husband sitting at the center of the table, a young woman sitting on his lap. “What the hell?” The leader of the group shot out of his seat, sending the young woman scrambling to her feet beside him. Persephone noticed that her eyes grew wide in recognition before she buried her face into the man’s chest. But it was too late, Persephone had seen her face, and another factor of heartbreak was added to fuel her burning rage.

“Helen?” Persephone gasped. This was one of her girls, one who she assumed had been back at the house sleeping. The girl turned her face to meet her once more, and opened her mouth to ready an excuse, but Persephone would have none of it. “Oh no, Helen, oh you don’t get to talk,” she spat out the words like venom, and the young girl shut her mouth and her posture curled in on herself. Persephone didn’t even need to ask why she was there, the look of shame that had taken hold of Helen’s youthful features speaking volumes on its own. Helen had come to seek refuge with Persephone earlier that month, and Persephone had welcomed her into her home with open arms. The girl showed promise in the field of medicine, having steady hands and a knack for memorizing anatomical terms. She had often sought out Persephone’s company after hours, which had flattered the goddess, but her affections lay elsewhere (a husband whom no one here knew about, and a beautiful mortal woman called Annabel that had made the warmer months less lonely, and the longing for her husband more bearable), and she would turn the girl away gently. Helen must’ve seen how the two interacted with one another, and allowed jealousy to turn her. Missing persons posters had been placed all around the town by Annabel’s husband, yet the girls were bound by an oath not to divulge the names of any of the other women who shared their home. They all took this oath seriously, as Persephone had been nothing short of a savior to them, and without her guidance they knew they would have ended up leading a much less satisfying existence. But Helen decided to break that promise it appeared, most likely telling Annabel’s husband her whereabouts in hopes of hurting Persephone for rejecting her, and gaining a wealthy suitor’s eye in the process. This breach of trust lead to the rest of the men seated before her finding and killing poor Annabel, so Helen was at as much fault as the others, if not more.

“What’s a matter boys?” Persephone taunted into the silence, “By all means, please continue to enjoy yourselves and your recent victories.” The men all looked from her to their friend, who remained on his feet, confusion and disgust at a woman barging in on them contorting his face. ‘This is going to be fun,’ Persephone thought with a twisted delight, ‘let’s see just how much I can put the fear of god (or goddess in the case) into them before they finally beak and bow before me.’

She stalked closer to them, and sat down in a vacant seat at the end of the table, arms delicately folded on the surface before her. “What is the meaning of this? Who are you? What is going on?” The man of the house finally addressed her directly, ugly accusations informing his tone.

“Oh how rude of me,” Persephone donned a sweet smile, which served to unnerve the table more, “I’m Persephone. I’m the one who owns that big house a little ways up the street. I’m also the woman who fucked your wife.” She spoke pleasantly as if she were merely discussing the weather, and watched with joy as the man’s jaw met the floor and he was left reeling.

“Wh- I… You… _ WHAT?!? _” He sputtered out before finding his footing once more, and yelled in pure savagery, “YOU’RE THE BITCH WHO STOLE MY WIFE FROM ME?”

There it was. There was that sense of entitlement she had heard so much about. Women did not exist as mere possessions of men, and it was well past time for this unjust society to acknowledge that truth, so she would help them by offering an unforgettable example. “Oops,” Persephone coyly announced, as she knocked a nearby bottle of clear liquor to the ground, shattering in it, allowing alcohol and glass to pool around their feet. “Silly me, I’m so clumsy today,” she mocked again, standing to knock over another bottle with a similar flair. On and on she went, surprised that none of the men had tried to stop her, as she emptied that entire liquor cabinet onto the floor one bottle at a time. She saved the last bottle for herself, reaching for an empty glass on the table before filling it and bringing it to her lips. “Ooh! Scotch! Very nice, and a good age too,” she addressed men before her with an unsettling air of refinement, and raised her glass in her own private toast. “To Annabel!” she screamed, voice filling every corner of the room with the dissonance of words that did not match the tone of those that came before. The ceiling shook, paintings rattled, and there it was, the entire room’s energy made palpable by unbridled horror. With her mention of the name of Annabel by name, there was no more mystery as to why she was here. They knew she knew, and that she must’ve overheard their jests earlier as well. Persephone brought the glass to her lips, and inhaled the drinks strong, peaty aroma, before draining it in one long sip. She opened both hands, and let the rest of the Scotch and her glass fall to the floor as well.

She was done playing around now. Now that everyone was on the same page about why they were being punished, said punishment could now begin. With a strength that was unexpected for her lithe form, Persephone gave the now barren liquor cabinet a light shove, and it toppled onto its side, landing right in front of the door that had opened inwards into the room. Now there was no escape. She moved to block their path to the room’s only window, no hint of concern that she would not be able to defend her ground should the need arise, despite the window being massive and taking up a large space on the wall behind her. With every possible means of egress accounted for and dealt with to her satisfaction, Persephone made lingering eye-contact with the men once more. She allowed a truly monstrous grin to unravel before them, all teeth, pupils blown wide with excitement at what would come next.

Without freeing anyone from her scalding stare, one of Persephone’s hands reached down to her side and fished around a pocket before emerging with the match box she had pilfered earlier, her free hand moved to open it, and she carefully selected her perfect weapon. She held the match at arms length for all to see, and tossed the box at Helen, who caught it via those uncontrollable human reflexes. Everything was now perfectly in place. Persephone let loose a growl from her parted lips, it started out low and dangerous, but quickly increased in volume and syllables until she was delivering a truly unsettling and otherworldly laugh. Confusion mixed into the fear exuding from her prey, the humans unable to share in her own private joke. Just to really throw them one final time, she ceased laughing abruptly, and let the placid mocking smile from before find purchase again, the pleasant curve of her lips did not meet her eyes. She let the silent go on for about ten heart beats, and in an air of feigned friendship, she bid her goodbye, “Say ‘hi’ to my husband for me!” With a snap of her fingers, the match held before her and the box still in Helen’s hands combusted, without ever being struck on the ignition paper. Helen screamed, as she threw the flaming matchbox to the ground, where the flames took to the pools of alcohol with vigor. Fire licked at their heels and spread out of control, rapidly engulfing the room and everyone in it. Shouts of the purest, unfettered agony rose with the room’s temperature before smoke inhalation stifled them no more than a whimper. Hands sought desperately to open the door to the rest of the house, but all effort was wasted against the solid oak cabinet that proved to be a formidable barricaded. Persephone looked on in satisfaction, before peering toward her own match, the flame had almost burned its way down to her fingertips. She blew it out and tossed it aside, have seen enough, and vanished without a trace. In her stead, she left behind a thick wall of hearty vines, which wrapped around the window frame and ensured that it remained shut long enough for the humans to no longer need it. The vines would unfortunately be burned alive with them, but Persephone made sure to let the plant feel what little love she could muster up in honor of its brave sacrifice.

  
By the time the window to the drawing room blew out, alerting the whole town of the house fire, Persephone was back in her own room, strewn across the soft bed. But the bed felt empty, _ she _ felt empty. She was painfully aware that she had gone against her usual compassionate nature to avenge her sweet Annabel’s death, but she didn’t feel the lasting sense of satisfaction she expected her brutal revenge to bring. For all her effort, nothing had truly changed for her, sure the mortal realm had a few less monsters roaming its surface, but she was still as alone up here as ever. She and her husband were by no means on good terms at the moment, but she found herself for a quick moment actually looking forward to the start of Fall. Sure, she still wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of him when her time did finally arrive to return downstairs, but she would at least be relieved of the crushing isolation that perpetually follows her alone across the earth.


End file.
